


The Prince and the Farmer

by TrickstersBlessing (Rinielle)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Widofjord Week 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinielle/pseuds/TrickstersBlessing
Summary: Caught in a storm and miles from home Prince Fjord takes shelter on a small isolated farm, what he finds there is more than he could ever imagine.
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

Spring had come early that year.

Such a thing probably wouldn’t have been all that notable except that Fjord’s father kept speaking at length on how it was a good omen. A sign that their kingdom had earned the favour of the Wildmother that year. That still might not have drawn any particular attention if it were anyone else, in the case of his father however, what pleased the King had a tendency to please everyone else; and so fairly soon the whole court was buzzing with the news.

The King had been so pleased with increasingly optimistic reports of the years crop yields after meeting with his advisors, on one particularly bright spring day, that when Fjord had requested to go riding in the afternoon he had not only agreed, he had forgotten entirely to order someone to find Bryce to make them go with him. Fjord was in no mood to correct that mistake and hurried away before it could be remembered. 

It wasn’t so much that Fjord didn’t like Bryce. They were nice. A little straight-laced perhaps, but kind and willing to turn a blind eye to some of the more minor breaches of the strict palace rules Fjord occasionally pulled. It did however become tiresome having a shadow every time he so much as walked out into the gardens however, and so Fjord was certainly going to take hold of the rare opportunity to leave unaccompanied. He’d just have to hope his father’s good mood continued on into the evening. 

It was therefore alone, and with the widest smile, that Fjord mounted his newest horse - a seventeen hand Palomino Jester had named Oskar before he, or anyone else, could stop her - and rode out of the palace gates at full speed. 

Though the sun shone high already, there was a lingering crispness on the air that whipped through Fjord’s hair as Oskar carried him through the city gates and out into the open countryside. He laughed lightly into the wind, relishing the freedom for a few more glorious seconds before slowing Oskar down to a more gentle trot. He glanced behind him, the palace and the city gates now some distance away, and leant down to pat the horses neck. It had been the first time he’d really been able to let Oskar just run, and he’d have to thank Dairon for her recommendation when he returned later.

A familiar buzzing sound reached his ears and he rolled his eyes, glancing around and finally finding the source. A little hummingbird was darting this way and that in the air to his right. 

“I’m fine Shakaste,”

  
The Grand Duchess zipped around in a little arc but kept pace with Oskar, her wings beating so fast they were barely visible. 

“I just need a little time out,” he said, “I will be back before dinner,”

The bird fluttered around him once more and then took off back in the direction of the city and Fjord smiled as he watched her go. He really couldn’t ask for a better Captain for his guard. Shakaste was protective, certainly, but unlike some of the younger, greener soldiers under his command, he worried a little less and was good about allowing Fjord some small freedoms. Be it a day here or an afternoon there where he perhaps accidentally averted the gaze of his little friend. 

From then the day past almost literally in a blur. Oskar seemed to be relishing the freedom to run almost as much as Fjord. It was all he could do to remember not to go so far as to no longer be able to find his way back. It wasn’t hugely surprising therefore that he didn’t pay as much attention to the time, or weather, as he perhaps should have. The skies that had been bright and entirely clear when he left were quickly turning dark and grey. Evening had closed fast and a spring storm was already threatening past the horizon. 

He had definitely stayed out too long.

His first thought was to simply head straight for the palace. To try and outrun the storm, and he spurred Oskar back into a gallop. The Storm Lord’s favour however had apparently not been won along with the Wildmother’s, and before they had made any real ground back the rain was already picking up speed, hitting him in the face until he could barely see. Gently he slowed Oskar again, scanning around himself for anywhere he might find shelter. There was a small patch of trees not too far, but as a streak of lightning breached the clouds he thought twice on that. The light had faded with darkened clouds and driving rain, but his father's heritage meant that Fjord’s vision was better than most, and after peering around him as they moved more steadily now he spotted what looked like a light not too far away. 

Pulling on Oskar’s reins he guided him into a canter, wary of the slick ground beneath them, and headed straight for the light. His clothes were going to be ruined, he thought; Oskar kicking up mud as they sped across the fields. Not that it mattered. His father was going to kill him.

The light, it turned out. Came from a small farmhouse. It seemed an odd place for a farm, this far out and within perhaps only a days ride to the Dwendalian border. However Fjord wasn’t in any mood to question good fortune; the barn doors were open and he headed straight for them.

There was no light within the barn itself aside from what little still breached the clouds from outside, but Fjord could see well enough. He slipped from Oskar’s saddle and began looking for something, anything to try and get them both at least a little drier. Off to one side were a couple of stalls with their own occupants looking at Fjord with quiet indifference. Over the top of one of these stalls was a horse blanket and Fjord bit his lip. Would it be alright to use it? Technically speaking he was the Prince and technically this farm was on his father’s land. His father would tell him it was his right to appropriate when necessary; the seal tucked into his cloak gave him leave to take much more than a blanket. 

Still, it felt rude.

He sighed. He’d just have to brave the rain and go to the farmhouse and ask permission. He shook his head a little, water scattering across the floor in front of him. His trousers were spattered from top to bottom in mud and his shirt and vest hadn’t fared a great deal better. He must have looked quite the sight, he only hoped whoever lived there didn’t panic at his sudden appearance on their doorstep.

Quickly he took off Oskar’s saddle and used his reins to tie him loosely to one of the bars of an empty stall.

“Don’t get into any fights,” he warned the horse, but Oskar seemed content to stand quietly despite the way the wind was now picking up and rattling the shutters in the upper part of the barn. “I’ll be right back,” he said turning away to head back out into the storm only to fall backwards into Oskar’s hind quarters in surprise when he found a hooded figure standing in the doorway to the barn, lit up by a particularly ill timed flash of lightning.

He would have loved to have said the sound he made was just a simple low exclamation of surprise but he wasn’t going to fool anyone. Even Oskar, who had thus far seemed unmoved, seemed startled by the sudden high pitched yelp, backing up slightly and nearly knocking Fjord onto the floor. His heart was going ten to the dozen as he righted himself and looked back to the door. The figure was still standing there, what looked like a garden fork brandished in both hands, but they made no move to attack.

“Who are you!” they said, the voice lightly accented in a way Fjord recognised as Zemnian. That might explain what they were doing all the way out here, in the remnants of what had once been the Zemni Fields, before Fjord’s ancestors took this section of the land for their own.

He wasn't sure what it was exactly that made him say it, perhaps too much rain water got in his ears and clogged up his brain, but for some reason instead of introducing himself as Fjord Tusktooth, Crown Prince, what actually came out of his mouth was, “Ah, my name is Oskar,” and for a moment he could have sworn the horse in question gave him the side-eye, but it must have simply been his slightly panicked mind hallucinating, “I’m afraid I got caught in the storm, I was… I was just going to come and knock on your door to ask if I might wait it out, in here,”

The figure stepped a little closer, the fork lowered but still held tight. They appeared to be human, though even with his vision the cloak made it difficult to make out their features. What clothes he could make out beneath it were simple but durable, and somehow more mud-covered even than his own. As they got close enough to fully take in the scene before them, something about Fjord’s appearance must have been at least mildly reassuring because they released the tight grip on the fork and set it to one side. They moved across to the stall with the blanket slung over it and pulled it down. Also reaching down to pull something else from the ground. 

“Here,” they said, handing Fjord the object, a scraper. “Dry him off, I’ll get a bucket of feed and some water,”

Fjord blinked for a moment, staring after them as the figure wandered away, disappearing for a moment through a door on the opposite side of the barn, then looked down at the scraper in his hands and shook his head. Oskar, the real Oskar, needed looking after right now.

He made a start, very aware that his technique was severely lacking and this was probably taking longer than it should. A couple of times Oskar knickered a little and shook his head in disapproval. He wasn’t entirely useless in the stables but then, his father had only approved of him learning as much as was completely necessary. Everything else should be left to the stableboys. As he scraped the water from Oskar’s back, again he couldn’t help but feel the horse was judging him in some way.

“You don’t do this often?” he heard a voice say, and he managed not to startle too obviously this time, looking over his shoulder to find the figure, hood still up, walking back towards him with two buckets. These were placed beside Oskar, who happily bent his neck towards the food first.

“Uh…” Fjord scrambled a little. The figure laughed lightly and reached out to take the scraper. Setting about drying Oskar in a much more efficient and practised manner. They worked in silence, each second making Fjord feel more awkward than the last.

“Get the blanket please,” they said once they were finished, and Fjord, determined at least to get that right, laid the blanket over Oskar’s back and secured it in place. The person opened the door to the empty stall and led Oskar inside. In the end the horse was very well set up and seemed unperturbed by being in a smaller stable than he was used to. 

“Thank you,” he managed to say.

The figure stared at him from beneath the hood, and then cast an eye out of the still open barn doors. They were quiet for a time, apparently thinking, then finally they turned back.

“You can wait inside if you prefer,” they said.

Fjord waved a hand and shook his head, “I wouldn’t want to impose, I’ll be fine to wait it out here,”

“The storm isn’t going to end for some time,” the person said, with a certainty that was a little unnerving.

Fjord hesitated, quite suddenly realising how odd a situation he was in, alone in the middle of almost nowhere, with someone he didn’t know. Jester was going to laugh herself silly at him and ask him if he’d learned nothing from all the stories she’d told him about evil witches and wizards who lured people in from storms and ate them, or something else horrible, Fjord couldn’t quite remember. Jester told a lot of stories.

“You are welcome of course, to stay out here if you prefer,” the figure said, and they started walking back towards the doors.

Thinking of Jester made Fjord think of Beau, and thinking of Beau made him think how hard she’d laugh at him for even entertaining the fantastical notions of Jester's novels as being real. Besides, what sort of evil witch or wizard made sure your horse was safe and warm before they murdered you? With that in mind, he gave Oskar a firm pat and hurried after the person. The rain was coming down even harder now, and he had to wait for them to close the barn doors before they headed towards the house. Thankfully it wasn’t far.

He bundled into the house and was immediately hit with such warmth that it surprised him somewhat. Looking around, he found himself in a small entryway. A door to the side opened out into a small living room, sparse on the furniture front but what was there looked cosy, in a lived in sort of a way. A little rug was laid out beside a couple of armchairs, in front of a roaring fire that must have taken a great deal of work to get going with the weather outside. Curled up on the rug was a large brown spotted cat, apparently sleeping. The presumed owner toed off their boots before entering and so, out of politeness, Fjord did the same. As he stepped into the living room they pulled off the cloak, shaking it a little, and throwing it onto a little wooden chair off to one side and turned to look back at him. Fjord froze. He felt his heart rate speed up almost as instantaneously as he had when they’d been a lightning framed cloaked figure holding a fork in a dark barn, but for entirely different reasons.

The person before him was certainly human. Tall, though not as tall as Fjord, lightly tanned skin and medium length red hair pulled into a ponytail, but what caught Fjord’s attention was their eyes. A bright piercing blue Fjord couldn’t have been prepared for. He felt his mouth go slightly dry under their gaze. He was so caught off guard he almost missed it when the person spoke. 

“Welcome to my home,” they said, holding out a hand, “I am Caleb. Caleb Widogast.”


	2. Chapter 2

He was patting at his hair with a towel when, for the third time in less than an hour, Fjord almost jumped out of his skin. Jester’s voice suddenly sounded in his mind, as though she were standing right beside him, whispering harshly in his ear.

“Oh my Gods. Fjord. Where are you? Shakaste said you went riding but you’d be back for dinner! But it is dinner and you’re not…”

He gave it a beat, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure Caleb was still busying himself in the kitchen making tea, then he answered, keeping his voice low.

“I’m fine Jester. The storm crept up on me but I found shelter, I’m perfectly safe… Is… Is he very angry?”

A few minutes passed by in which Fjord sat anxiously awaiting his best friend’s response, he was beginning to think she’d overdone herself during the day and left herself with no magic - not an uncommon occurrence - and then, finally, her voice rang out again.

“I told him you’re safe.” he heard her say, “He’s… Pretty angry Fjord. Why didn’t you take Bryce with you? Or me or Beau at least? We would have…” she cut off again and he sighed. She never had been good at keeping her messages concise.

“I just needed space,” he said quietly, willing her to understand even far away as she currently was, “You know how he’s been lately. I’m sorry I worried everyone, but I’ll be back as soon as the storm passes,”

She didn’t respond again after that, either because she was no longer in a position to talk freely or because she had run out of energy for spell casting. No doubt if the storm lasted out the night he would be hearing from her first thing in the morning. 

His eyes drifted to the window where rain was still battering against murky glass, another flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed a few seconds later by the boom of thunder. The storm was still not on top of them here. 

Caleb wandered in a few minutes later; a tray of tea in hand, which he placed on the little table that sat between the armchairs. He leant forward to offer Fjord one of the cups, and he took it gratefully. The crockery looked well used and worn, but the tea was warm and Fjord wasn’t of a mind to critique the cups and saucers of a man who would take in a complete stranger on a stormy night. 

“So…” he ventured into the slightly awkward silence, and Caleb blinked at him from behind his own cup. “How uh. How long have you lived out here?” Fjord winced at the banal nature of the question. He was usually so much better at small talk, but that was with noblemen and women of the court, people he may not know well personally, but at least he knew by reputation. People who all discussed the same sort of things at every event. He was equipped for trade deals and land disputes and taxes. 

Caleb took pity on him however and only gave a slightly amused smile before answering.

“Ah, a fair few years now,”

“Is this a family farm?”

Something unreadable passed over Caleb’s face for just a moment, but it passed quickly and he shook his head.

“No,” he said, “Just me… and Frumpkin here of course.” As if summoned by it’s name, the large cat had unfurled itself from its position on the carpet and clambered up onto it’s master’s lap. Rubbing against his chest once before settling down neatly in his lap. Caleb let one hand drop away from his cup to scratch it behind the ear.

Fjord placed his own tea down, “It must get sort of lonely,” he said. Trying to imagine a life without the constant comings and goings of others was almost impossible. He barely ever went an hour outside of sleep without someone checking in on him. 

“I find I generally prefer my own company,” Caleb replied, then blinked and coughed, “Not that it is not nice to have the occasional visitor,” 

Fjord laughed, “You know you do not need to trouble yourself with being polite to me, I did break into your barn after all. It is kind enough that you would let me take shelter in your home,”

“Well after all I would not want to risk offending whatever noble family you hail from by leaving you to sleep in an old barn,” replied Caleb. There was an element of gentle mockery to his reply but Fjord blew past it. Too surprised at having been so quickly figured out. 

“What…”

“Gave you away?” Caleb finished his question for him with a raised brow, leaning back in his chair. If Fjord didn’t know better he’d swear the cat was looking at him as if to say ‘are you an idiot?’ and frankly he was getting tired of being judged by animals today. “Aside from the accent, the mannerisms, the clothes and the clearly very well bred horse in my barn?”

Fjord winced slightly, embarrassed.

“When you put it that way.” Perhaps the cat was right. Perhaps he was an idiot. He didn’t like to think he was. He had always done reasonably well in his studies, despite never having cared all that much for book learning. Perhaps he was simply off guard, it wasn’t really every day he was sat in the frankly tiny living quarters of a perfectly regular person chatting over tea. In fact it wasn’t any day when such a thing happened. 

“May I ask what family you do hail from?” Caleb said, “Oskar? Wasn’t it?”

Fjord swallowed his tea a little too fast but fought the urge to cough. This, at least, he was good at.

“Yes that’s right. Oskar Lionett,” he replied smoothly, making a mental apology to Beauregard for having momentarily usurped her position as heir; though in all honestly she’d probably have thanked him if he did. If Caleb suspected he wasn’t being entirely truthful he didn’t say anything. He was after all a farmer living practically in the middle of nowhere, aside from his own local family, there was very little reason for him to know all that much about the Kingdom’s nobles aside from their family names.

Come to think of it, it really was a very odd place for a farm. Even a small one. If he remembered right and his sense of his own Kingdom was not completely skewed by being caught in a storm, the closest town was a small one called Blumenthal, one of the last dwellings, aside from the garrisons, that sat close to the eastern border. Fjord had never met Lord Drummend, the man who currently had charge of this region, though he had seen his father roll his eyes a number of times whenever he was mentioned. By all accounts lazy and slightly incompetant, but the family was long established and held enough clout to maintain their lofty position with very little work. 

"You're quite far out of the way here. It must be a difficult way to make a living," he said, a good enough change of subject to steer the conversation from his personal lineage. 

"I make do. A simple life makes for simple needs." 

There was nothing particularly obviously offended in the way he spoke but Fjord felt the rudeness of his sudden assertion regardless. 

"I apologise." he said, "That was… I'll admit I'm mostly just intrigued by such a life. Privacy and quiet are rarer commodities in my own," 

He watched Caleb consider him. Those quick blue eyes passing over him as if trying to find something. He held his expression neutral. Determined not to give away any more than was already clear. In the end he shook his head a little and took another sip of tea. 

"Is that how you came to be out alone in a storm?" he asked after a moment, "A little privacy and quiet?" 

Fjord laughed and relaxed a little. 

"Something like that," he replied, "As you can see it worked out perfectly," 

"At least your family can rest assured that you are not being subjected to the elements," 

Fjord blinked. Once again caught off guard he shot Caleb a questioning look. He received a wry smile as a reply. 

"It's a small house," he said, "You were either responding to some form of message or talking to yourself. I admit I hadn't ruled out the second option entirely," 

"I did not think…" Fjord stopped, he was admittedly curious how a farmer might know enough about magic to even think of a message as an option, but this time he caught himself before he said something rude. Again. "That is. To answer your question I rather think I'd be safer in the elements than home right now," 

"Oh?" 

"My father was… Unhappy to discover my continued absence. I had promised to return before dinner. Had I set out for home with that goal in mind I would likely have avoided the worst of the storm but…" he sighed, glancing around himself.

“It is easy to lose yourself out here,” said Caleb knowingly.

Fjord had to agree. There was something oddly inviting about the wide open space of the land that stretched from Caleb’s front door. It had been so easy to lose track of time out there, it was almost as if time had ceased to exist. Lightning crashed outside and thunder followed close behind it, rumbling loud enough to make the windows shake a little. Still the fire was warm, and the room, for all it’s sparseness was cozy. The room itself had a similar feel to the land around it. As though time didn’t quite reach it, though it clearly swirled on around them.

"There's something to be said for the simple life huh?" he replied.

Caleb followed his gaze around his own home and rested a hand gently on the back of Frumpkin's head. 

"There certainly is."

\---

As Caleb had predicted the storm showed few signs of slowing for the night. 

Fjord worried that he was keeping Caleb from sleeping but the man assured him more than once that he would find it difficult to find rest with the wind howling as it was and the thunder. He wasn't certain that he believed him but he selfishly found himself quite content to sit and talk with the farmer. 

They talked therefore. For several hours together. Taking only momentary breaks for Caleb to put together some food - which Fjord tried to refuse but found himself unable - and periodically to do whatever clever trick he had learned to keep the fire in the grate burning brightly. Fjord had tried to watch but Frumpkin - apparently put out by his master leaving his chair - chose those moments to leap into Fjord's lap. Paws placed on his chest, and staring at him as if trying to figure him out. Fjord leaned away as far as possible, his nose already tickling until Caleb returned to his own chair and Frumpkin padded back. The fire crackling merrily away beside them. 

Caleb talked to him about the farm. Its day to day running, its difficulties, and Fjord took a variety of mental notes of information that would be of use the next time his father forced him to sit in on meetings with local farmers. Caleb surprised him somewhat with queries about his 'parents' involvement in the wine trade; apparently he was on fair terms with the tavern owner in Blumenthal who had once given him a bottle after Caleb had done him a favour. Thankfully for Fjord, practically growing up with Beauregard had prepared him with sufficient knowledge of her family's business to answer them. 

Fjord talked of his own life as best he could, drawing on what he knew of all the noblemen and their sons that entered his sphere, and weaving what he knew of their lives with some of his own in order to forge a believable account of how he spent his days. On the subject of his ‘father’ and ‘mother’ he was less than kind, Beauregard had had quite the upbringing but nothing that was good in it had come from them, and he would pay them no compliments even as he pretended they were his own. Caleb listened as well as he talked, and Fjord was gladdened to see his eyes darken slightly with each new mention of Lady and Lord Lionett. 

“It sounds as though your father expects rather an unfair amount from you,” he said at one point, voice slightly steely, and for a moment Fjord forgot that he had been recounting a mostly stolen tale of Beauregards; and in that moment his own true father came to mind. 

“He expects me to be someone who is worthy of his life’s work,” he replied, momentarily honest and immediately he regretted it. It was better to steer away from too much truth. His own father was hard on him at times, that was for sure, but a direct comparison to Lord Lionett fell apart really quite quickly.

“It seems to me that being worthy and his opinion on what is worthy may not be the same thing,"

“That’s…” Fjord paused, swallowing, and took a moment to put his mind back on track. “Perhaps you’re right, but, I don’t plan on being the one to tell him so, I rather cherish the small freedoms I do have,”

“Perhaps you could run away and start a little farm yourself,” Caleb replied, seeming more serious perhaps than he intended to, at least Fjord could only assume. Fjord laughed anyway and he smiled his small smile in response confirming he had indeed not been serious.

\---

Caleb, he found, was in general more intelligent and articulate than any farmer he had ever met or expected to meet. Traits he supposed must come from having been - in his own words - fortunate enough to have been taught to read and write by his parents and finding an early and enduring fascination with books. Although Fjord could count the number of books that he himself had read for pleasure rather than as a necessity, with a little time they were able to find one or two in common. 

Fjord had never really been one for literary discussions. The only people he could have spoken of such things with would be Beau and Jester and frankly he'd throw himself off the tower before discussing the sorts of books they preferred to read. Still there was something about the way Caleb seemed to light up as he discussed his 'little library'. Books he had managed to collect over the years. Trading in Blumenthal, and on the odd occasions he was able to take time and visit larger cities. He lamented not having nearly as large a collection as he would like, but he also reasoned that what he had sufficed given the time he had for reading. Fjord kept to himself the full extent of his own library. Feeling suddenly rather neglectful of it. He didn't want to come across as if bragging. Caleb had clearly put a lot of time and care into his, and Fjord having inherited perhaps more books than Caleb would ever have seen and spending little time with them, except what he was forced to, might not go down well. 

In his mind he cast around and thought of several occupants of said library that Caleb would surely appreciate. As he watched him talk animatedly about a particular favourite his thoughts went unbidden to how it might be to walk Caleb into the palace library. Would his eyes brighten more so than even now? Would that small smile stretch into something less guarded? 

He shook the thought away almost as quickly as it came. He was unlikely ever to see Caleb again after tonight. His father was not likely to allow him such a freedom again, early spring or no. Besides which, Caleb himself led a busy life by all accounts. If his favoured hobby were so curbed by his usual daily chores. 

It was around midnight - by Caleb's reckoning, and Fjord wondered if all farmers had such a knack for knowing the time - when the storm finally died down. Fjord had long since stopped paying attention to the weather, and indeed the general passage of time. He could happily have sat hours longer talking to Caleb. 

However, the fire was finally starting to fade, and Caleb had made no move to feed it further. Indeed he seemed to be flagging himself. Cross-legged now in his armchair, Frumpkin sound asleep in his lap. 

"If you wish to sleep you're welcome to my cot," he gestured across the room to where a little bed sat tucked into the far corner. Fjord tried to protest but Caleb was insistent. 

"I sleep here more often than there most nights," he said, head lolling slightly to one side to lean on the edge of the chair. “Besides, it does no good to disturb a sleeping cat,” he joked, nodding at Frumpkin who was purring loudly.

In the end, the need to sleep won out over the need for chivalry or general politeness. Fjord took the bed. For a short time he tossed and turned. Trying to do so quietly, not wanting Caleb to think he was uncomfortable. He turned once again to face the room. Even with the fire now died away he could make the man out in his chair, eyes closed and breathing even and soft. Almost mimicking his cat. Fjord had to marvel slightly at his ability to sleep that way. Fjord had enough trouble sleeping on good days, even now. 

With the fire gone the temperature of the room was rapidly declining, Fjord was not hugely bothered by such a thing, he had always found the cold more bearable than most seemed to. Despite his insistence that he often fell asleep in his chair, Fjord couldn’t miss the slight shiver that shook the man as a particularly harsh gust of wind found its way down the chimney and through the little room. Frumpkin awoke, hissing a little and then roused himself, stretching and clambering off his master’s knee, instead draping himself across Caleb’s shoulders, fluffy tail curled around his neck like a scarf. Fjord watched slightly in awe. He’d never seen a cat do such a thing. Honestly cats had never been his thing. He was, he thought, slightly allergic, and besides which the cats in the castle had always run away from him when he was a child. 

As another gust of wind found its way in and Caleb shivered again, if a little less obviously than before Fjord shifted as quietly as he could off the bed. There were two covers, including a slightly messy but functional patchwork quilt which Fjord now stripped off the top.

He padded across the room, Frumpkins eyes watching him the whole time in what could only be described as a wary manner.

“Easy now,” he said lowly, and he held up the quilt, hoping that sufficed for an explanation for the cat. It felt ridiculous but it at least seemed to work; Frumpkin chirped quietly and lay his head down against the back of the chair. Still watching but seemingly more relaxed. 

Careful not to wake him Fjord lay the blanket over the arms of the chair, letting it drape from Caleb’s arms and torso down to the floor and then tucking it gently in at the sides to make sure it didn’t fall. He glanced up as he finished and paused a moment. This close, Caleb’s face was a contradiction. Though he looked to be young in general, even in the dark, Fjord could see frown lines forming on Caleb’s forehead and bags under his eyes. He wondered how much sleep Caleb did get generally, being all alone on a farm, even a small one. Caleb sniffled slightly in his sleep, and his head lolled slightly more to the side, burying in Frumpkin’s fur a little. The cat purred a little louder. Fjord couldn’t help smiling a little at the action as he backed away quietly, returning to the little cot. 

He lay a few minutes longer, watched two or three more gusts pass through, Caleb seemed unaffected. Satisfied that the man was now at least somewhat more comfortable, Fjord re-set about finding a position to lie in himself. It was not any easier the second time around, however though the bed was harder than any Fjord had ever slept on, eventually exhaustion did its work and he drifted to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this story knocking around in my brain for months and then Widofjord Week came out with Royalty AU for it's 2nd day prompt and it seemed like the perfect time to start releasing it out into the world.


End file.
